


Rhonda

by aclosetlarryshipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Because of the very minor injuries, Blood, But like... a very quick mention of it, I guess there's a bit of underage drinking but... it's fine, It's feelings smut because that's all I can write, Louis runs into a pole and suffers very minor injuries, M/M, Minor Princess Diaries spoilers, The smut is very not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclosetlarryshipper/pseuds/aclosetlarryshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would it be weird of me to say I’m almost, like… nervous?”</p><p>Louis shakes his head, giggling as their noses press together in an Eskimo kiss. “Would it be weird of me to say I’m glad? Because I am too. A little.”</p><p>Louis can feel Harry exhale. “If you’re nervous, it means you really like the person, right? That’s what I’ve heard.”</p><p>“That sounds right,” Louis says, and then he leans in.</p><p>or</p><p>The High School AU that was inspired by Home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhonda

**Author's Note:**

> This was more inspired by Home than I want to admit. Also by a random couple who held hands while one was on a skateboard.
> 
> DQ stands for Dairy Queen if you are not from a place that has them. This is very American because I am too.
> 
> Thanks to Sonja and my lovely anons who helped me with this story <3 <3 <3

“That’s the sickest board I’ve ever seen!” Louis gasps, his phone’s browser open under his desk. It’s the board of his dreams, bright green with sleek black wheels to finish off the aesthetic. Louis leans his elbow on the table and imagines how cool he’d look riding it to and from school, all while apologetically rolling his skateboard back and forth below his chair.

Zayn nods in agreement, eyes to the whiteboard like he’s actually paying attention to their English lesson. Which, like, maybe he actually _is_. But Louis’ skateboarding needs should come first.

“It’s so expensive, though,” Louis whispers, his eyes bulging as he glances at the $262 price tag. “I don’t think I could get this, even if I asked my rich aunt to get it for me as joint Christmas-birthday present. And that’s in _December._ That’s like a million years away. _”_

Zayn frowns sympathetically and speaks from the corner of his mouth. “You could always get a summer job.”

Louis crinkles his nose in displeasure. After all, he’s only 17. This will be his last summer before he begins at the local community college and is forced to work part time as a cashier at the local DQ—a life of everlasting unhappiness and forever ruined dairy treats.

He’s not getting a job.

–

Louis hates people who take up the entire sidewalk. They walk like slow paced hippopotamuses and then they have the nerve to glare at Louis as he whizzes past on his board. _The audacity!_

This afternoon’s object of his displeasure is a boy in jorts with his phone pressed to his ear. Louis grinds his teeth as he slows, silently hoping for the boy to cross the street so he can finally get _home._ He has a pack of Bagel Bites with his name written on them, but if Lottie gets home first, then he can’t be completely sure she won’t eat them instead.

He even took a different, less crowded, but slightly further route just to make up extra time. Letting Lottie win would be tragic.

Louis sees his chance and takes it when the boy swerves a bit to the left. Louis uses his calf muscles to their full potential and speeds past him, turning back with his middle finger raised to let the roadblock know to _share the fucking sidewalk!_

And as soon as he registers that it’s Harry, he runs straight into a pole.

–

Harry Styles. Louis knows of him.

Their passing relationship began in middle school when they were forced into a joint carpool. Louis definitely tries to block out middle school as much as possible, but he does remember that he always had his headphones in because he already had enough friends. And it was too early to talk. Louis is not and has _never_ been a morning person.

He doesn’t remember much about Harry, but knows he bought his mom chocolates for her birthday one year, which infuriated him at the time because it overshadowed Louis’ handwritten card. He knows that Harry’s into the environment and that Harry’s mom always cringed at the mud he would track in to her car with the wheels of his skateboard.

He _also_ knows that he avoids Harry’s gaze during school when they pass each other. It began as an uncomfortable kind of recognized avoidance, but by now it’s drifted into an avoidance so practiced that Louis hardly even recognizes it anymore.

Maybe it’s weird that he doesn’t even speak to someone that he began and ended the school day with for three consecutive years, but it’s not like they ever said much more to each other than _hello_ or _see you tomorrow._ And it’s not like Louis can’t get to school by himself anymore.

Rhonda gets him there.

That’s why he’s surprised that when he blinks into a higher form of consciousness, Harry is staring down at him. They haven’t actually spoken more than twice in the past four years. They probably haven’t even made eye contact in two.

Up close, Harry looks a lot different than Louis remembers. Much more Zac Efron, much less nerdy middle schooler whose balls have yet to drop.

“Louis? Are you okay?” Harry asks. His fingers come to brush against a sore spot on Louis’ cheek, so Louis closes his eyes in pain and absolute humiliation.

Louis hates when people see him fail. Especially _cute_ boys with eyes as kind and beautiful as Harry’s. Louis will never forgive himself. Both for falling in front of Harry and for not talking to him for three years. What the fuck.

“Please just walk away and never tell anyone about this,” Louis begs.

Not only did he embarrass himself, but his planned and purposeful reputation of being a grungy skater could also be ruined forever. Louis has worked very, very hard over the years to appear aloof and hardcore, unbreakable and untouchable. He’s not about to let that slip through his fingers because he misjudged the distance of a pole.

“You’re bleeding,” Harry points out. He shows Louis the finger he’d used to wipe at his cheek, stained with a few drops of red. His eyes are wide with concern, his other hand gentle on Louis’ shoulder.

“My pride is more hurt than my body,” Louis feebly admits.

Harry’s lips press together into a tight line like he’s weighing his options. “Do you want some help up, then?”

Louis sets aside his pride and nods, his tailbone and ego aching. Harry is gentle with him, one hand out once Louis is standing fully. Louis winces and arches his back, groaning once he realizes his ribs and cheek both feel _very much_ like they ran into a pole.

He takes a hesitant step forward, and then realizes someone’s missing.

“Wait. Where’s Rhonda?” he freezes.

“Who’s Rhonda?” Harry asks, one hand hovering low against Louis’ back.

 _“My skateboard,”_ Louis answers, figuring that today actually can’t get any more embarrassing.

And it’s just _Harry._ He’s witnessed how long Louis would attempt to get his hair styled correctly in the mornings during middle school. He’s probably intimately smelled his morning breath on days he was so rushed he didn’t have time to brush his teeth before school. If anything, Louis should be thankful it was someone who’s already seen the embarrassing side of him.

It could be worse.

But the thing is, maybe it actually _can’t._

Harry’s hair didn’t curl quite the same way back then. Louis also didn’t really care about dating or kissing or any of that when he was in middle school. He honestly doesn’t care _too_ much about it now, either, but he thinks it would be nice to have someone (a guy) to hold hands with at lunch when it’s cold, and someone (a guy) to make out with in the back of movie theaters.

They guy part is yet to happen. Louis has high hopes, though.

“I have Rhonda here,” Harry holds her up. “She flew into the street when you… yeah. But I know how much your skateboard means to you, so. I saved her.”

“That’s… wow. That’s really nice of you,” Louis says, completely surprised.

Oh no.

His heart skips a beat and he looks down to his feet. He’s suddenly even more embarrassed to have fallen in front of Harry, especially after insulting him so badly. He’s _definitely_ not a scrawny middle schooler anymore, and he’s still just as genuinely kind as when he got his own mother a better birthday present than him all those years back.

That’s, like, five steps above most guys his age. That’s, like, five steps above Louis. Maybe even six.

“I always see you with her…” Harry trails off.

Louis takes Rhonda from him with a (hopefully not bloody-teethed) smile, his fingers shaking with shock and adrenaline. “Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?”

Harry stuffs his hands into his jorts pockets and shrugs. “Yeah, of course.”

“Cool,” Louis breathes out a sigh of relief. He drops Rhonda to the floor, his face still red in embarrassment. “Um… I’m going to go home, then. Sorry for flipping you off. I thought you were someone else,” Louis half-lies.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. He toes at the floor. “It’s been a while. It was good to see you, other than, you know…”

Louis skates away, reminding himself not to look back at Harry again.

Maybe he’ll take this new route again, though. For science.

–

The next day, Louis gets out of geography two minutes late (again!), which hinders his secretive search for Harry. It isn’t that Louis _really_ likes Harry, but he wants to make sure his ego isn’t too bruised from being flipped off. Because he remembers that Harry’s very sensitive.

Louis navigates the sidewalk like a pro, which is especially impressive because Rhonda’s front left wheel has an annoying flat spot that he’s needed to replace for weeks. He chugs along, skating past a group of sophomores wearing too much Axe and an old woman who chose a terrible time of the year to go on an outside stroll.

The air is buzzing with the end of the school year excitement that’s palpable, a thick impenetrable fog with a quiet buzz of _summer, summer, summer_ ringing in the background. It’s warm enough that the distant street is blurry with waves of heat, with the promise of lots of future sweat dripping down Louis’ back.

And then he sees curls.

Louis discreetly fixes the bottom of his shirt and coats his lips with Chapstick before rolling up beside Harry. Once he’s there, he realizes he never really thought of a good reason to skate beside him. But his years of practiced aloofness have prepared him for this.

“Hey. What’s up?” Louis asks. He gives Harry his signature chin nod.

He’s good.

Harry looks up at him and grins, his eyes alight with surprise. “I’m just walking home. What’s up with you?"

“Same,” Louis confirms. “I…”

He trails off, unsure how exactly to phrase _I realized you were cute yesterday after being a dick and now I wanted an excuse to talk to you._

“Are you feeling—” Harry begins to ask, just as Louis says, “I’m really s—”

Both of them stop at the same time and gesture for the other to continue.

“Sorry,” Louis laughs. “I just wanted to say sorry. Because of yesterday. It was rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” Harry reassures him, smiling like he means it. “Are you feeling okay, though?”

“I’ve got a gnarly bruise on my ribs and my cheek is a little bit cut up, but I’ve had much worse from skating before,” Louis shrugs, faking nonchalance. The truth is that he cried when he fell and broke his pinky last summer, but Harry doesn’t have to know that. Nobody knows but his mom and maybe Lottie because she was eating a popsicle in the front yard.

“Wow,” Harry’s eyes widen. “That’s so scary. My mom won’t let me ride my scooter without a helmet on.”

“You ride a _scooter?”_ Louis asks, holding back his laughter. Nobody cool rides a scooter. It’s either a bike or a skateboard.

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “I got it for my birthday two years ago. They’re way cooler than skateboards.”

Louis actually laughs at that. “No they aren’t! I haven’t seen a scooter in years!”

“That’s because I’m bringing them back,” Harry says.

“No, no, no,” Louis shakes his head, looking down at Harry from up high. Bless Rhonda, giving him the extra few centimeters to make him taller than everyone else. “It’s impossible to make a scooter cool.”

Harry’s bottom lip trembles. He looks down at the sidewalk, hiding the hurt from his face from Louis.

Louis didn’t mean to make Harry look so sad. He definitely didn’t want to make the first person that’s actually caught his interest since that one hot TA sophomore year _sad._ That was the opposite of his intention.

“Oh my God. I’m joking, Harry! You seem, like, a _lot_ cooler than you seemed in middle school. If there’s anyone who could do it, it’s you.”

Louis feels his cheeks heat up. It’s the closest he’s gotten to telling someone he’s interested in them in… ever, actually. Except for Hannah. But she didn’t count because he didn’t really have feelings for her. He didn’t exactly realize it at the time, but he just wanted to fit in with Zayn and have a girlfriend for the winter formal.

That’s why the words _I like you_ felt so wrong coming from his lips at the time.

Louis has given it a lot of thought, _a lot_ more than he’d ever admit to. It’s actually the thought that takes up the most space in his brain on the many late nights when he’s huddled under his covers and hidden from everyone else’s eyes.

And from those many late nights, he’s concluded that he’d choose a Harry over a Hannah any day.

“I always thought you were cool,” Harry tells him, biting his lip once it’s out in the open. Louis almost flies off his skateboard.

“Oh my God. I’m such a dick,” Louis covers his face in horror. He’s already halfway in love, but there’s no way Harry could even know he’s interested at this rate with how rude he’s been.

“Nah,” Harry laughs and shrugs, showing Louis that he really doesn’t mind too much. “I was a dweeb before. I’m actually still kind of a dweeb. But less so.”

“All I’ve done these past few days has been mean to you,” Louis says, feeling especially bad. And counter productive. He set out on this mission to get Harry to want to get to know him again, not shoo him away. “First I flip you off and force you into being my nurse, and then I insult your scooter!”

“Better than in middle school when you wouldn’t talk to me at all,” Harry tries to joke. But Louis can tell he means a little bit more than he’s projecting, his eyebrows creased down the middle.

“I’m a changed man,” Louis explains. Harry cracks a smile as he continues. “I’m 17 now. I’m past that weird awkward stage.”

Louis most certainly is _not_ past that weird awkward stage. His hair will still never fall right and he still sometimes gets untimely boners during the Hanes commercials when he watches TV with his family. He still hasn’t figured out which deodorant works best with his body and he tried to shave his pubes a few weeks ago and ended up with a weird, ingrown hair. He’s still definitely the Most Awkward even though he pretends to be the Most Chill.

But Harry doesn’t have to know that.

“Is 16 past that awkward age too?” Harry asks. “Am I past that stage?”

“Not a chance, curly,” Louis skates ahead, hungry and satisfied with having finally made Harry laugh. He doesn’t want to ruin things while he’s ahead.

When he gets home, he heats up some frozen taquitos and plops down in front of the TV. He replays their after school conversation and smiles when he remembers Harry said _I always thought you were cool._

And then it won’t leave his head. He feels like he needs to somehow document it somehow so he doesn’t forget, but he’s too cool for a blog and too old for a _journal._ If his friends saw he had a journal, what would they think? Nothing good.

But it just won’t leave. He doesn’t want to forget what Harry said to him. He can’t.

In the end, he flips Rhonda over and writes it all in silver sharpie. Louis is actually very pleased with the result. Harry’s words half cover his covert, dirtied rainbow sticker.

_Always thought you were cool_

–

The thing about skating beside Harry after school is that Louis doesn’t stop. He doesn’t go back to his old route, and he definitely knows it isn’t because it’s quicker or there are fewer people. It’s because Louis has a big, fat crush on Harry. He thinks it’s probably obvious. He knows Zayn probably knows something is up. He tells him he always jiggles his foot during the last few minutes of geography. And Louis has been forgetting to say goodbye, too intent on catching up to Harry whose last class is _all the way_ on the other side of school.

Whatever. Louis has a huge crush, but Harry’s actually started to wait for him. So maybe it’s mutual.

“Hey,” Louis nods once he catches up to him. It’s warmer than it was yesterday, the sun beating down on Louis’ neck.

“Hi,” Harry smiles, falling into step beside him. It’s very natural, a testament to how quickly they’ve gotten close. Maybe next they can move on to kissing. “I got you a present.”

Louis hesitantly grabs onto Harry’s elbow; it’s _also_ a recent development. Louis gets to touch him and he doesn’t have to push with his feet. Harry leads his way, and Louis thinks it’s beautiful. It also makes his tummy do back flips.

“What kind of present did you get me?” Louis asks him. He brought Harry a lollipop from home the other day, so he hopes it’s candy. Preferably chocolate. Louis is in the mood for chocolate. He’s also heard it’s an aphrodisiac, not that he needs that to get excited about Harry.

“You know how your front wheel is broken?” Harry asks. In turn, Louis’ heart stops and his voice turns softer than he thinks is normal or… acceptable. With someone who’s just a friend.

“You got me a new wheel?”

Harry nods. “I wasn’t exactly sure what to get you. But the guy from Wheels and Deals said you could trade it in if it’s wrong.”

“You went to Wheels and Deals?” Louis asks, excitement seeping into his tone. “Was Danny your cashier? I love Danny. He always gives me discounts and he taught me how to do an Ollie when I was first learning how to skate.”

“I don’t know,” Harry tells him as he pulls the present from his pocket. “He was tall. And had really dark hair.”

Louis accepts Harry’s present with an enthusiastic _thank you,_ his eyes wide as he looks at the new wheel. It’s shiny and blue, just like Rhonda’s current wheels, but he quickly realizes it isn’t the right one. It’s a little bit too big.

“It won’t fit,” Louis pouts. “It’s too big.”

“Oh,” Harry’s face falls. “I—I could go with you to get a replacement? The store isn’t too far.”

There’s probably not a more exciting suggestion in the world. So Harry walks and Louis rolls, all the way to Wheels and Deals.

Louis pops Rhonda up and opens the door for Harry, allowing him in first. It’s not Danny behind the register, but it’s Nicki, and she’s just as good.

“Louis!” she smiles warmly at him, a sharp contrast to her dramatic and intimidating makeup. “What are you doing here?”

Louis leads Harry to the counter and immediately begins running his fingers over the local business cards, an easy distraction.

“Harry’s wheel was too big for Rhonda,” Louis explains. “All of the other wheels are a 50. It would ride weird. We want to exchange Harry’s wheel for one that fits.”

“Do you have a receipt?” Nicki asks Harry.

“No,” Harry frowns. “But the tall guy with dark hair said we could exchange if it was wrong! Is that still okay?”

Nicki studies them seriously for a moment before she breaks the act. Her tone is teasing. “Of course! Anything for little Lou and his boyfriend!”

Louis’ cheeks flame up; _everything_ about her statement embarrasses him. “I’m not little! And Harry’s not my boyfriend! He just bought me a wheel!”

Nicki hides a laugh behind her hand. “If you say so! Give me Rhonda and the wheel. I’ll switch it out for you.”

Louis hands Rhonda over with careful hands. Harry sets the new, shiny wheel on the counter.

“Hardness?” Nicki asks as she pulls a combination wrench from behind the counter.

“78a,” Louis confirms. He can feel Harry’s heavy stare, so he puffs his chest out a little bit. Harry’s staring at him like he’s smart and knows Things. It’s one of the feelings Louis likes most—feeling looked up to. Especially by Harry.

Nicki nods and goes off in search of the correct wheel. Louis turns to Harry and leans his hip against the glass. It’s very much _not_ because he thinks it makes him look sexy. The glass is just there.

“I didn’t realize there was so much that goes into picking a skateboard wheel,” Harry looks partially amazed.

Louis shrugs and tries to look less smug than he feels. He’s probably the best and coolest skateboarder in their whole entire school and he knows it. “It isn’t _really_ hard when you know what you’re looking for.”

“There are so many numbers,” Harry points out, his eyes roaming over the decks covering the back wall.

“It’s much more complicated than scooter business,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows. But then Harry frowns, so Louis takes it back. He doesn’t like Harry frowning. He can suck up his obvious superiority in forms of wheeled transportation, in this one tiny case. “Actually, I don’t know the first thing about a scooter. You’ve got me beat there.”

“I’ve never had to replace my wheels before,” Harry says just as Nicki returns from the back room and begins Rhonda’s surgery.

“You probably don’t ride as much as me,” Louis tells him. “I’m never away from Rhonda. She doesn’t get a break.”

“This sounds a lot like first date talk,” Nicki observes shrewdly from behind the counter, muscles rippling as she loosens the nut.

“If you count this as date talk, then Harry and I have been on much more than _one,”_ Louis tells her, his tone petulant. “Not that we’ve been on dates, but. You know.”

“Has he not asked you on a real date yet?” Nicki asks Harry. “I think he’s just shy. I think he likes you a lot.”

Louis’ jaw drops. He also lies. “I am _not_ shy! I’m fearless! I’d ask anyone out in a minute if I liked them! Ask anyone!”

In a slight panic, Louis looks out of the corner of his eyes to see Harry looking down to his feet. It makes him want to reach out for him.

“I mean. Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never really asked anyone out before,” Louis says, suddenly feeling small and put on the spot. He’s not even really out to the world other than his mom and little sister and Zayn and Stan, but Stan was drunk so he’s not even sure Stan _counts._ That’s only like… .000001% of the population, if that. Nicki shouldn’t already know he wants to date Harry.

That’s not fair.

Harry finally meets his eyes and Louis feels his shoulders sag in response. But instead of sadness or accusation like Louis expects, he sees understanding and support, empathy. It’s like Harry’s sending his own personal _I understand_ into the universe for Louis to receive.

Louis feels his finger twitch as he aches even more to touch Harry—his arm, his hand, his skin. It’s a powerful moment, one that Louis can sense he’s not fully grasping. He knows the Look means something, something important, but he can’t quite grasp exactly what. It borders on a confirmation of something critical, something Louis’s been desperately trying to receive for the past few weeks.

Nicki finishes quickly and they both exit the shop together. Harry lets Louis hold onto his elbow and drag him back home, both quiet as the wheels _thump thump thump_ over the raised edges of the sidewalk. Before they part, Louis hugs him and really thanks him for the gift, a little emotional at the way Harry grips him back tight.

When he gets home, he immediately gets his Sharpie out again, scribbling the two words that he _knows_ Harry sent him using gay telepathy. The thought makes him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, hopeful and excited for the future, a foreign concept he’s learned to shun for the past few years.

_me too_

–

Graduation is a lot. It’s hot and humid and sad and hopeful and bittersweet and much more and much less than the movies promised. His mom cries and his grandparents slip him a 20-dollar bill and Zayn invites him to his after party.

It’s not a rager, but it’s full of cheap vodka and hard lemonade. Louis is nowhere near as cool as he pretends to be, so he’s drunk after four and a half shots.

Harry texts him congratulations late at night, so Louis sneaks into an empty room and drunk dials him right then. Harry picks up almost immediately.

“Harry. I’m going to be an adult now! I don’t wanna be an adult! I’m only 17,” Louis complains, not giving him a chance to even say more than hello.

Harry laughs at him through the phone. “You’re not Peter Pan! Everyone has to grow up eventually, Louis.”

“That’s sad,” Louis pouts. He lies backwards over Zayn’s couch. The material is almost velvety against his skin and the pattern reminds him of the tiles in the school’s cafeteria.

As he runs his fingers over he fabric, it hits him how alone he feels. Or, _will_ feel. Stan’s off to a big, fancy university in the fall and Zayn’s going on a really cool graduation trip traveling all over summer. And then when he gets back, he’s going straight off to school, too. Everything is changing for his friends for the better while Louis is going to be stuck here. Louis doesn’t really feel trapped; he wasn’t ready to leave his mom or sisters and he’s not at all sure what he wants in life, so community college while saving up really has always been his best option, but Louis still feels a little bit left behind.

Louis will be alone— _is_ alone. Louis is probably going to be alone for a while: in this room, this summer, in the future. He shouldn’t feel this alone on his graduation night. He wishes Harry were here. That would be nice.

“Do you remember in Wheels and Deals? When Nicki thought we were dating?” Louis asks, his thoughts misty and clouded over like a dream. He didn’t feel alone when Nicki thought they were together—he almost liked it in a twisted way. “I never even told her I like boys. How did she know? I still don’t think Stan even knows. And he’s supposed to be my best friend.”

Harry stays silent.

“Oh God,” Louis suddenly feels nauseas as the truth hits him. “It’s because it’s so obvious I’m into you. _Everyone knows, don’t they?_ I’m not as good at pretending as I thought. I’m a fake! A fraud. _”_

“I didn’t know,” Harry states.

“Oh no,” Louis still feels like throwing up.

“But thank you for telling me,” Harry says. “I wasn’t sure.”

“I didn’t mean to tell you,” Louis insists, horrified at himself. “Oh God. You can’t tell anyone!”

Harry laughs. “Okay, Lou. It can be our little secret. I promise I won’t tell anyone you like me.”

“Thanks. Because I—” Louis is interrupted by Stan tripping through the door. He falls to the floor and inexplicably growls at Louis’ ankles hanging over the edge of the couch. “Oh no. Stan fell. I think I should pick him up.”

“Yeah, you should help Stan,” Harry tells him. “Have a good night, Lou. Stay safe. Drink a lot of water. And congrats again.”

And later, once Stan is snoring in Zayn’s bed and Louis is sprawled out on the exact same couch where he first made his declaration, Louis scribbles _our little secret_ onto Rhonda.

His memories of why are very fuzzy in the morning.

—

_L: my mom misses you_

Louis sighs, shirtless and restless on his bed only one week into the summer. He’s already bored of GTA and FIFA and Candyland (because Phoebe is obsessed and not because Louis still plays Candyland at 17, obviously.)

**H: I miss her too!!!**

Louis thinks that’s probably a lie. Harry probably misses _him._ After all, it’s been a week since they last walked home from school together. And after their weird moment at Wheels and Deals, Louis thinks Harry probably feels the same type of deep connection Louis does, a connection that makes Louis feel all hollow on the inside of his stomach and his bones feel like they’re half made of air and half made of sand.

_L: She says you should come over today to visit_

Louis really hopes he comes over. Maybe he can bring his scooter and they can ride around the neighborhood trying to outperform the other. Maybe Harry will let Louis hold onto his elbow and drag him around. Maybe, if he’s sneaky, he can even get Harry to hold his hand. The thought of it makes Louis’ bones feel more like air than sand.

**H: Do you still have the same address?**

_L: Yes :)_

—

When Harry arrives, the center of the back of his shirt is stained darker with sweat and his hair is plastered to his forehead.

“You live less than a mile away!” Louis tells him as he lets him through the threshold. “How are you so sweaty?”

“I might have ran here,” Harry says. He kicks off his shoes like he’s been to Louis’ house more than two times in the past and pushes his curls out of his face. “Can I have a glass of water?”

Louis leads Harry into the kitchen, making sure to stay out of his mom’s way as he grabs two glasses from the drying rack beside the sink. Low and embarrassing music is playing as she cuts an apple. She glances over at them as they fill their glasses, but does a double take.

“Harry? Harry Styles?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Long time no see,” Harry smiles up at her, his feet turned in as he stands.

“What are you…? Did Louis invite you over…?” she asks, looking as shell-shocked as Louis would have been a few months ago if he knew that Harry Styles would be standing in his kitchen now.

“He said you missed me,” Harry turns to give Louis a smug look.

“I knew she did, deep down,” Louis shrugs. It’s not really getting caught in a lie if you both know you’re bluffing to begin with.

She immediately forces them both into seats at the kitchen table and shares her apple slices with them. And then she quizzes Harry over every new life plot point. And then she (slightly unfairly) compares Harry’s interests and accomplishments to Louis’. And then, eventually, “What about a girlfriend? I remember you were into some nice girl named… what was it… Jess? Alexandria? Before.”

Harry blushes under her gaze. “No. No girlfriend for me.”

“Ah, well,” she brushes it off. “You’re only 16 anyway, right? Plenty of time for that later. Louis’s been perfectly content single for all these years.”

Louis looks down at the table, his finger still tracing the condensation of his glass. “It was _okay.”_

“Well, anyway,” She pats his arm. “What I mean is it isn’t the end of the world.”

Harry’s still too hot to go outside, so once the apples are gone, they decide to plop down on the couch and watch the ending of the Princess Diaries with Lottie.

“I always wished Genovia was a real place,” Harry sighs as he settles into his cushion, immediately remaking friends with Lottie. “It looks so magical.”

Louis misses her response because he’s suddenly zeroing in on the very, very minimal amount of space between his and Harry’s pinkies. They’re just… they’re so, so close. If Louis accidentally moved his finger two millimeters to the right then Harry could probably feel his body heat.

Onscreen, Mia is stuck in the rain waiting to be rescued by Joe. Louis bites his lip and slides his pinkie to the right, tiny increment by tiny increment. He keeps his eyes glued to the screen so it will look accidental when their fingers meet and—

Harry flinches as soon as they’re touching. But he doesn’t pull away.

Louis can feel his palm break out into a sweat and his eyes widen. He didn’t think of what to do _after._ Just that he wanted to feel connected to Harry somehow.

He bends his knuckle and slides the sides of their pinkies together, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration.

Harry doesn’t falter from his conversation with Lottie, taking the small touches without moving much, just softly pushing against Louis’ finger when he pulls away.

Louis can’t help the giddy smile that takes over when they both still, Louis’ pinky firmly linked with Harry’s at their side while Mia pops her foot up during her first kiss with Michael.

Later that night, he writes _no girlfriend._

–

**H: Sister got me a handle. Meet me at the park on 3 rd at midnight?**

_L: I’ll be there_

—

The best part of summer is the nighttime. Even though it’s pitch black and there’s a breeze, Louis doesn’t need more than a light sweater.

Harry’s already there when he arrives with Rhonda. He’s sitting at the top of the play structure, one leg dangling down the slide and the other stretched out in front of him. He has a handle of vodka in one hand and a liter of Sprite in the other.

Louis walks forward and watches as Harry takes a sip of vodka, winces, and immediately chugs three gulps of soda. It makes him smile a soft smile, one that he’d normally hide behind the sleeve of his sweater from the cool kids at school.

“Hey, wimp,” Louis yells as a joke. Harry turns and sets down the Sprite.

“You’re late,” Harry yells back.

Louis apologizes and stashes Rhonda beneath the slide. Once he’s sure she’s secure, he climbs up the side of the play structure. It’s fashioned to be the side of a mountain, so Louis makes sure he places his feet on the pretend rocks and holds tightly onto the rope. It makes him a bit nostalgic—reminiscent of a time when boys and impressing people were the furthest things from his mind.

“I feel like Rapunzel,” Harry pouts once Louis’ side is aligned with his.

“Does that make me your Prince?” Louis asks. He doesn’t mean for his tone to come out longingly, but. It probably does. Louis steals a sip of vodka to hide his embarrassment. He tries to show off that he’s a High School Graduate now and makes sure not to take a sip of Sprite after.

“You can be my Prince if you want,” Harry tells him, his voice soft like it’s a secret.

And Louis has heard a lot of good things in his life.

That he’s good at skating. That his mom loves him. That he can cook really good mac and cheese. That he’s the best big brother in the entire world, even when he steals Lottie’s food. That he’s actually graduated high school with a semi-decent GPA.

But few things have ever sounded so good, so right. Where he and Harry are touching _burn,_ even through their clothes.

“Your hair isn’t even long enough to be Rapunzel,” Louis jokes, a blush on his cheeks as he toys with one of Harry’s curls.

Harry shrugs and brings the vodka to his lips. After wincing from the taste, he reluctantly grabs the Sprite and takes a gulp.

“I’d grow my hair out to be Rapunzel if it meant I got a Prince like you,” Harry admits after, his eyes meeting Louis’ bravely. Louis has to force himself to keep the eye contact.

His heart floods with warmth and he’s 99% positive it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Ever since the Pinkie Incident and Me Too, it’s been pretty obvious to Louis that the crush _wasn’t_ one-sided. But to hear it so explicitly stated by Harry fills his stomach with fluttery butterflies and makes it hard to contain his smile.

Louis takes the bottle from Harry’s hand and takes another shot. It’s too big and a drop dribbles from the corner of his mouth, but Harry thumbs it away as Louis grabs for the chaser.

Once the taste has burned away, Louis cuddles in closer to Harry’s side. “I’m cold.”

It’s mostly a lie. It’s just that Louis has never really had practice making moves on someone. Explicitly saying _please put your arm around me and hold me close_ sounds a little bit too forward to him, even if he long ago gave up on keeping his normal detached, cool persona up for Harry.

Luckily, Harry understands and wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulder. They’re both so close, Louis’ face squished into Harry’s neck. He can smell Harry’s cologne and feel his skin against his cold nose and his soul deep in his bones. He can’t even feel the alcohol, too zoned in on his every overwhelmed sense.

Louis’ fingers come to twist at the bottom of Harry’s sweater, picking at a loose thread so he has an excuse to feel even closer to him. He wants to kiss Harry’s face, to feel his skin against his lips and maybe even know what the inside of his mouth tastes like. He wants to discover him in a way he’s never wanted to with anyone else, but the thought of actually doing it, of kissing another boy, is slightly terrifying.

Louis has built himself up as fearless, like a person who’s effortlessly cool and knowledgeable and experienced, but the honest truth is that he’s never kissed anyone but Hannah. And even then, it didn’t feel like butterflies or skipping stones or _right._ It was quick and short and he couldn’t find it in himself to pull her close as it happened, just one hand on her shoulder and the other balled into a fist at his side as the laser lights danced all around them. It felt forced and stilted, like something he had to do just to go through the motions, not something he felt properly enthused about at all.

But when he kisses _Harry,_ which he can feel is brimming on the close horizon, he’s already imagined the scenario a million and one times, late at night while he’s huddled under his covers and hidden from everyone else’s eyes. When they kiss, he wants them to be as close as possible. He wants to have one hand on Harry’s waist and the other in his hair, or both wrapped around Harry’s neck as they pull each other closer, or maybe even Harry sitting in his lap with both of their arms wrapped around each other. He wants to feel him everywhere, the exact opposite of how he felt when he imagined kissing Hannah.

And even though their relationship is still a recent development, a sudden change that came from completely out of left field, he hasn’t felt so close to someone in a while. His body feels like it’s overheating with longing, with the need to shout out to the world that he wants to kiss Harry Styles on the mouth and hold his hand when they walk home together.

But he’s still a little bit (a lot bit) terrified. With the sudden surge of clarity, he feels insecure and dependent, in need of comfort and reassurance.

“How did you…” Louis trails off, shaking fingers still messing with the hem of Harry’s clothes. “Have you ever, like… kissed… you know?”

Harry softly leans his head down onto the top of Louis’. He takes his time with answering but doesn’t ask for clarification. Louis is grateful, guessing that it’s probably the gay telepathy again.

“Once. As a dare. He wasn’t like… like us though. It was really quick. And, like, he wasn’t really my type anyway.”

Louis closes his eyes as the truth washes over him. Harry’s just as clueless. It makes him feel a little bit braver, a little less hesitant with his words.

“I haven’t. Like, ever. With a guy. And I don’t really know how to feel about it,” Louis confesses. His mouth feels dry but his eyes feel wet; it’s not often he freely admits his weaknesses.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Harry tells him. His fingers rub at Louis’ shoulder through the fabric of his sweater. Louis feels Harry’s warm lips press against his forehead. “It’s fine.”

Louis sniffs, not wanting to get emotional. He’s tried to talk about this with his mom and with Zayn, but they didn’t really _get_ it. It didn’t feel like it lifted the weight from his shoulders in the way Harry’s five words have.

“Can we get out of here?”

Louis likes feeling trapped against Harry’s side, but something about the exposure of the conversation makes Louis feel like he has to move forward. Louis isn’t one to sit still, anyway, but his need to constantly go is causing his skin to feel like it’s shaking in an entirely new way.

Harry gives his shoulder one last squeeze and then they go down the slide together, Louis’ legs entrapping Harry and the liter of Sprite held tight in Louis’ left hand.

And then it’s Louis on Rhonda, Harry beside him, leading the three of them nowhere. Louis holds onto Harry’s arm like he’s the only one who knows the way. Harry seems to understand Louis’ need to move on, not to dwell on the sadness or the insecurity that Louis tries so hard to push down; he chats about easier subjects as they glide through the darkness, school and greenhouse gasses and music, the types of subjects Louis can easily nod along to.

Once the sky is beginning to go navy with the impending daybreak, they pass Harry’s house and stash the bottles in a bush, both completely sober and uncompromised. Harry stops when they reach the street corner and drops to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk.

Louis follows suit, sitting a few inches taller than Harry because of Rhonda’s added height. Louis slowly rocks side to side as they both stare at the gravel, tapping Harry’s hip with the edge of Rhonda every so often. The street is silent and timeless, his childhood and their present overlapping.

“Who else have you told?” Harry finally asks. And Louis doesn’t have to have any context to know exactly what he means.

“My mom. One of my sisters. Zayn. Stan… maybe,” Louis shrugs, still looking to the pavement.

“Stan, maybe?” Harry presses.

“He was drunk. He hasn’t brought it up since, so…” Louis shrugs again. The pavement has cracks that need to be fixed.

“And they’re the only ones?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs again. The STOP at the intersection is almost completely peeled off. That probably isn’t safe.

“I’ve only told my mom and sister,” Harry tells him. “My best friend Niall doesn’t even _really_ know, but I think he still knows.”

Louis turns to look at Harry. “Really?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Not sure you’ve noticed, but it’s kind of scary to bring up.”

That makes Louis smile. He _has_ noticed, remembers how fast his heart was pounding when he finally cornered his mom after dinner as she was scrubbing a pot.

“I think… I’ve probably just been waiting for someone to come along. It feels like it would make things easier. Less hypothetical, more concrete, you know? People will just know. I won’t have to actually explain.”

But all Louis gets from that is _I’ve been waiting for you._

And it stays with him throughout the rest of the sunrise. Later that morning, he makes sure to scribble _waiting for you_ on Rhonda. His cheeks are still a blushing red from the kiss to the forehead Harry gave him when he walked him to his door.

 —

Louis wakes up to Daisy landing straight on his sternum.

“Fuck!” Louis shouts, no filter in the morning. As soon as the word leaves his mouth, his throat flares up with pain.

“I want pancakes!” she yells from on top of his chest.

“Can you make Lottie do it today?” Louis grumbles. His throat is on fire, throbbing with pain, making swallowing difficult.

Once Daisy leaves, Louis reluctantly pulls himself out of bed. He makes his way straight to the medicine cabinet after pulling on a shirt.

He _does_ end up making the girls pancakes; Lottie is still not completely trusted with a burner by herself and his mom is stuck at work for another five hours. He’s definitely the best big brother ever, saving his sisters from Raisin Bran or one of his mom’s equally bland healthy cereals.

His throat still hurts, though.

—

_L: I’m sick :(_

**H: You need meds?**

Louis sighs and lies back on the couch, taking up the whole three cushions. The girls are all momentarily sated and lounging around attempting to digest, but he knows they’re going to be hyper and back on him soon.

Normally, Louis wouldn’t mind. He’d feed off of their energy and maybe try to teach them how to do easy tricks on Rhonda, but Louis can’t even imagine standing right now, much less doing _more._

_L: Took meds, need someone to give me a remote control to turn off their hyper switches :(_

Harry stops texting back, then, which. _Whatever._ Louis didn’t really want to talk to him, anyway.

Except that of course he did. He always wants to be talking to Harry. After that Night in the Park and the Pinkie Incident and Me Too, it feels like talking to Harry is what he’s been centering his summer days around. He always finds something that Harry says makes him want to smile for a straight year.

Just as the girls begin to perk up, the doorbell rings. Louis groans and sends Lottie to the door, reminding her not to open it unless she sees that it’s a person she knows and trusts.

She opens the door; Louis’ heart stops and he sits up straight, suddenly self-conscious of his sleep crusted eyes and bed head.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” Louis coughs, his throat still burning.

“I brought you soup,” Harry smiles at him. “And I came to hang out with your sisters! No Louis’ allowed!”

“Louis was being so boring today! Yay!” Phoebe squeaks.

Lottie suspiciously asks, “What are we going to do?”

“Well,” Harry claps his hands in front of him. “I was going to go to a trash cleanup _alone_ today, but I thought it would be more fun with all of you coming along!”

“Oh…”

The silence that takes over the house as the girls all stare at Harry is loud. Louis wants to take him out of his misery, but he’s also enjoying watching Harry sweat.

“Like. Voluntarily cleaning outside in the heat?” Lottie finally asks.

Harry blinks.

“Well, that. Or… Do you have chocolate chips in your cabinet?” Harry tries again.

Phoebe squeals and grabs for Harry’s hand before dragging him into the kitchen. As they pass the couch, Louis catches Harry’s eye and mouths _thank you._ Harry shrugs like it’s nothing and Louis closes his eyes against a rush of relief.

—

And it isn’t until Harry presses gentle fingers to his wrist that Louis blinks them open.

“What—” he begins, trying to sit up, disoriented.

Harry immediately presses a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“We made cookies. I put in the Lizzie McGuire movie. I think Lottie’s playing with Phoebe’s hair and the other two are watching. Nobody’s doing anything dangerous, I promise you.”

Louis lets himself relax back into the couch. He’s so relieved that he could kiss Harry, probably _would_ kiss Harry if it didn’t mean Harry would have a throat of death, too.

“Thank you,” he croaks, but talking hurts. Harry seems to understand because he asks if he’d like his chicken soup to soothe his throat. Louis nods rather than talks, smiling once Harry stands and makes his way back into the kitchen.

Louis scrolls through Twitter as he waits for Harry to bring him his soup, feeling properly spoiled. Not many people have a cute boy willing to make them soup and spend the day with their little sisters. Louis is very blessed.

After rolling his eyes through his annoying cousin’s girlfriend problems, a tweet from Wheels and Deal’s catches his eye.

_We're pairing up with 7/11 for 7/11Day! Find out how to win our newest, coolest board just by using our hashtag #HotWheelsandDeals!_

Louis clicks the following link, obviously. He scans through the rules of the competition, his eyes growing wider as he goes because it actually seems doable.

_Winners must tweet @WheelsandDeals and use the hashtag #HotWheelsandDeals to be considered for the grand prize. The two winners will be picked based on one of two categories: 1) creativity of the cup used for their free Slurpie and 2) the number of 7/11 locations the winner documents on camera. The same Twitter account can not win both categories. Photos must be submitted by 10:00 PM on July 11 th… blah… blah… blah._

Louis ignores the rest of the application jumble because it’s a win-win. Lots of free Slurpies and a new board. Not that he doesn’t love Rhonda, but she needs a break sometimes, too. Another board could only be a _good_ thing.

Louis favorites the Tweet and sends a message to Zayn, telling him about the contest and asking if he’d be down to drive for a bunch of free Slurpies.

Harry returns with a steaming bowl of soup moments later. Louis smiles gratefully, not trusting his throat yet.

Louis reaches for the bowl, but Harry shakes his head. He sits at the edge of the couch, his hip light against Louis’ side as he dips the spoon into the soup. Harry brings the soup to Louis’ lips himself because he’s ridiculous and also probably the most wonderful person alive.

The soup is delicious and the girls don’t bother them for at least half an hour. Since verbal speech is impossible, Harry takes to drawing on Louis’ forearm as they sit together. He scribbles a tiny skateboarding stickman, and even though it’s terrible, Louis can’t help imagining tattooing it on his body forever.

And eventually they both nod off.

Louis awakens to his mom having thrown a blanket over both of them. Harry’s feet are bare and stationary by Louis’ face, neither of them having wanted to infect the other by being too close. Louis smiles at the sentiment of it.

And once Harry wakes up to five missed calls from his mom and rushes out the door, Louis draws his future tattoo on Rhonda.

—

A few days later, Louis is finally able to hang out. He’s finally over his sickness, his appetite back and his spirit mostly restored. Harry had been reluctant to hang out at the park when Louis first texted, saying something about being exhausted, but Louis had used his persuasive skills.

It hasn’t been the best day so far. He accidentally lost his temper and yelled at Phoebe when she asked him to play Barbie since earlier he had accidentally slammed the bathroom doorknob into the wall. His mom was super pissed about both events,but hanging out with Harry will probably make him feel like less of a terrible person. Harry always makes him feel better than he did before.

Louis shakes his hips, moving Rhonda from side to side as Harry lies on top of a picnic table. Harry seems lethargic, the summer sun having drained him of energy.

“Summers can get so boring,” Louis complains. His lower back feels sticky with sweat, like he never fully dried off from his shower. It’s kind of gross.

“Nice to know I’m boring you so much,” Harry says without opening his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Louis rolls his eyes.

Harry doesn’t respond, just flips over onto his stomach. The lack of attention he’s giving Louis frustrates him.

“I might be getting a new skateboard,” Louis says, prodding Harry into responding to him.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, but he doesn’t sound too interested.

“Yeah,” Louis continues. “There’s this online contest for Wheels and Deals and 7/11. On Wednesday, if you get the most pictures at different 7/11’s or have the coolest cup, then you can get a cool new board. It’s the free Slurpie day. Zayn and I are going to try to win.”

“Oh,” Harry finally opens his eyes. “That sounds cool. I think I might try to win, too. I have some cool cups at home. That’d be fun.”

Louis stops swinging from side to side. The thought of Harry trying to compete against him for a skateboard that he probably wouldn’t even _use_ is oddly infuriating.

“It would also be pretty pointless.”

“Hm?” Harry asks, not catching his tone.

“You don’t even skate! You think scooters are cool. You probably wouldn’t even use it. It would be a waste.”

Harry sits up, his eyes hard. He studies him for a second. “Nice to know you think I’d be a waste.”

“That’s not what I meant. And you know it.”

Louis knows this is a pointless argument that’s venturing into dangerous territory. It’s doubtful either of them will win, anyway, but the thought of Harry winning such a skateboard with no real longing behind it feels wrong. It reminds him of when Lottie used to steal the last cookie from the jar just to make sure nobody else would get it, even though she wasn’t hungry for it yet.

“Maybe I’ve wanted to learn how to skateboard,” Harry shrugs. His tone is light, but Louis can tell he’s trying to further rile him up. Which is just. Annoying.

“You could have asked me to teach you if you were _actually_ interested. Stop making shit up,” Louis tells him.

Harry shakes his head, keeping his voice low and dangerous. “No. I want to win that board. And you’re being a dick."

“You’re the one who’s being a dick,” Louis counters.

“How?” Harry asks. “How am I the one being a dick right now?”

“Because you just—because this wouldn’t even be an issue if you hadn’t been ignoring me! I had a shitty day and I thought maybe hanging out with you would make it better. If you didn’t want to hang out, it’s not like you’re _obligated_ to be here.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “I told you I was tired! You were the one who convinced me to come in the first place, knowing perfectly well that I wasn’t feeling up to it!”

“Okay, well then go home and take a nap! Whatever. I don’t care anymore. Today sucks anyway.”

Harry stands. “You can call me when you feel less like lashing out at someone you actually _care_ about just because you’ve had a bad day.”

Louis feels tears prickling at his eyes, so he drops Rhonda to the ground and skates the other direction before Harry can make him feel any worse.

And the further he gets from Harry, the more upset he gets with himself. Fury overtakes him, blurring his sensibilities. Wanting to blow off some steam, he tries out an angry kick flip and somehow, for some reason, lands with his foot right in the center of Rhonda.

"Harry breaks Louis, Louis breaks Rhonda" **([vashtaneradas,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956061) 2013).**

—

Louis knows he needs to apologize. It’s been eating away at his insides, he’s typed about a million drafts into his phone, and that fact that he hasn’t spoken to Harry is four days kills him, but he’s just not really sure how to apologize. He’s never had an almost-boyfriend or someone who means this much to him other than his family, so it’s scary to realize that Harry is someone he could potentially lose over one fight.

He’s seen all of those daytime talk shows with his mom that stress how important communication and compromise and constant effort from both parties is, but he’s never actually had to put this type of effort in. With Stan, whenever they get into an argument, it’s forgotten in an hour and they just keep going like it’s nothing. With Zayn, they just keep insulting each other until the other smiles, but Louis knows neither of these will cut it with Harry.

His relationship with Harry is different, deeper, softer and more delicate.

When Zayn pulls up to his driveway, Louis feels like he has to drag himself off the couch. If he still had Rhonda, he thinks maybe he’d just tell Zayn he’s feeling sick and doesn’t want to try to win the contest, but without Rhonda he feels utterly lost. Nobody could replace her, but Louis needs a way to get around. And the skateboard _is_ nice. Maybe it would make him feel better.

“You look like shit,” Zayn tells him as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“You look worse,” Louis spits back automatically, defensive.

“Woah,” Zayn says. He doesn’t pull out of the driveway. “What’s wrong?”

“I broke Rhonda,” Louis half-explains, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out the window.

“No!” Zayn frowns. “She was a good skateboard. I’m sorry, man.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “But that’s why I really want to win this new one. Thanks for agreeing to help.”

“My mom just filled up my tank, so we’re good to go,” Zayn tells him. “And it’ll be okay, Lou. Rhonda lived a good life. She can’t be replaced, but you deserve to find someone else that can make you happy, too.”

Louis continues to stare out the window as they drive, Zayn’s cool music serving as an inappropriate backdrop to the sad music video he’s constructing in his head.

There are three 7/11s in their town, two in the next, four in the next, and two in the next after that. Louis fully intends for them to make it to _all_ of them, otherwise he’s sure they have no chance at winning (Louis mapped it all out before the Fight happened.)

The first 7/11 is crowded, full of kids and parents and other angsty teens that Louis eyes suspiciously. Louis fights to get in line and feels his heart sink when he sees that they’re out of wild cherry. He imagines it’s been a terrible and busy day, though, so he doesn’t hold a grudge against the store. Also, he’s sure he’s going to be sick of Slurpies by the end of the day, anyway. Also, he’s sure one of the other stores they go to will have the flavor. It’s fine. Whatever. He doesn’t really care anymore.

Zayn snaps a picture of him at the outside of the store once they make it out alive, and then they’re back on the road.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you won the board?” Zayn asks. He grabs at Louis’ shoulder as they’re stopped at a red light, so Louis knows he’s doing a shitty job at pretending not to be sad.

“Harry and I are _fighting,”_ Louis blurts out, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh,” Zayn pulls his hand away as the light turns green. “What about?”

“It’s stupid,” Louis pouts, kicking at the bottom of his seat. “He wanted to try to win the contest too, and then I got… um, mad.”

Instead of comforting Louis, Zayn laughs.

“It isn’t funny!” Louis yells, feeling more ridiculous now that Zayn’s further confirmed that it was a pointless disagreement.

“It is! Just tell him you were being weird. Then you can kiss and make up. Easy.”

“We still haven’t even kissed yet,” Louis grumbles.

“Well, this can be the perfect opportunity,” Zayn points out.

“I guess, but…” Louis sinks down into his seat. “He’s probably really mad at me. I was being, like, really rude. I took out my bad day on him and just kind of expected him to make everything better.”

“Just apologize,” Zayn tells him. “He’ll probably forgive you.”

“Maybe, but—” Louis’s cut off by his ringtone. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, eyebrows furrowing when he sees that it’s his mom.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Louis!” she says, sounding exasperated. Louis panics; that’s her _you’re in trouble_ voice. “I told you that you had to do the dishes before you could go out with Zayn!”

Shit. It completely slipped his teenage-angst ridden brain. “Sorry mom, I forgot.”

“I want you to come home. If Zayn can’t drop you off, then I’ll come get you.”

“Mom,” Louis groans. “That’s not fair! You know Rhonda’s broken.”

“That doesn’t excuse you ignoring your chores! These were supposed to be done last night! I was being nice by giving you an _extra_ day. And you took advantage of that.”

“I really just—I forgot,” Louis miserably tries to reason with her.

“That doesn’t change that they’re not done,” she says firmly. “So am I coming to get you? Or can Zayn drop you off?”

“Can you take me home?” Louis asks Zayn, embarrassed by the tears swimming in his eyes. He’s just had the _worst_ week, and it’s even worse that he feels like crying in front of one of his closest (and coolest) friends.

He’s never seen Zayn cry. Zayn probably doesn’t even cry.

“Of course, bro,” Zayn says, his voice gentle like he can _tell_ Louis is on the verge of crying.

The drive home is quiet and seems to last for years rather than minutes. Louis is so embarrassed, his sniffles not drowned out by Zayn’s music turned low. Louis wishes it were loud enough to drown out all sounds, to drown out his thoughts.

“You can call me if you want to talk later,” Zayn tells him once they reach his house.

“Thanks,” Louis murmurs as he unbuckles his seat belt. Zayn pulls him into a hug before he can escape.

“It’ll be okay, you know? You can get a new board and Harry will totally forgive you when you apologize. And dishes aren’t that bad, right?” he asks.

Louis wipes at his nose, nodding while looking to the floor. He really does love Zayn. He’s probably not even going to laugh at Louis behind his back. He owes him a nice text message once he’s done with the dishes.

But it’s been a long and tiring week. Once he’s done with his chores and has received a thorough talking to and much needed hug from his mom, he goes straight to sleep.

—

Louis wakes up just as the sun is beginning to set. He doesn’t immediately open his eyes, too hot and fighting against the dream slipping through his fingers. He thinks it had to do with Harry, a castle, and Rhonda. (RIP)

Once he’s fully awake, he turns onto his side. His heart feels tight, constricted and weighed down with guilt and yearning. He misses Harry so much. He misses him, but he knows that it’s his fault that they haven’t spoken in the first place.

He flips over again, battling with his thoughts of _he never even wants to talk to you again._ Like, Harry told him specifically to call him once he got his thoughts sorted out. That means he still wants to talk to him.

He checks the time on his bedside clock. It’s not entirely _too_ late to be calling, so Louis grabs his phone and runs his thumb over the side of it, wasting time as he thinks it over.

He guesses he’ll never get Harry back if he doesn’t even try. So Louis, King of not caring, decides to try, for once. Harry’s worth it. Louis will suck up his insecurities and potentially face rejection, just for the small chance that it will be worth it. That Harry will want him back. That Harry will answer and take him back.

“Hello?” Louis asks, his voice small once Harry answers.

“Hi,” Harry says, his voice equally small.

“I—um,” Louis begins, not wanting to do it all over the phone. “Can you meet me at the park in twenty minutes?”

Harry agrees without much convincing, so Louis takes it as a good sign.

Louis brushes his teeth and tries to make his hair look presentable once he hangs up, and then steps out into the warm July air. Rhonda’s absence is palpable as Louis is forced to walk.

Harry is already standing at the top of the play structure when Louis arrives. Louis watches, drinking in Harry’s dark, moonlight-lit silhouette as he musters up the courage to actually make his presence known.

Eventually, Louis takes a deep breath and walks to the play structure, avoiding Harry’s watchful eye as he climbs the rope to get to him. He’s instantly reminded of his dream—he’d climbed up the side of a castle using Harry’s hair as a rope, but halfway up the castle, he’d dropped Rhonda. He’d jumped back down after her and ended up on the ground, eyes squinted as he looked up into the shining sun, Harry’s face unreadable from so far. It had seemed like an even more challenging task the second time around.

But he’d sucked up the fear and made the climb.

Once he makes it to the top of the rope, Harry’s standing in front of him, both hands behind his back. Louis stares and Harry stares back.

“Hi,” Harry finally says.

“I’m sorry,” Louis finally cracks, misery in his voice, the apology coming naturally. “I was having a really bad day when I blew up at you.”

“It’s okay—” Harry begins, but Louis cuts him off, desperate to get his words out.

“No! It isn’t. I really like you, but if I treat you badly then you’re never going to want anything to do with me ever again. I’m not, like, good at apologies, but I really mean this one.”

“I wasn’t being the nicest, either,” Harry says. His hands are still behind his back. “I hadn’t gotten much sleep. I’m always a grump when I’m tired.”

“And I knew that you were tired, but I still selfishly wanted to have all of your attention. And you were really not as much as a grump as me,” Louis frowns. With their close proximity, his fingers itch to reach out to Harry, to pull him close and bury his nose in his curls and never let go.

“Yeah, but skateboarding really isn’t my thing, anyway,” Harry says.

Louis immediately feels even guiltier. “It can be yours too. If you want. I can even teach you how to ride, if you want me to.”

Harry shakes his head and pulls a skateboard from behind his back.

“I just wanted to win it for you the whole time, anyway. It’s always been for you, even when I was mad at you.”

Louis’ jaw drops. Because right there in front of him is _the_ skateboard. The one he was trying to win.

Harry won him the skateboard.

“I—How?” Louis asks, his fingers reaching out to touch the new board.

Harry won him the skateboard.

“I guess Wheels and Deals thought a Halloween pumpkin was a creative cup? Either that, or I might have told them who it would be for. And cheated.”

Harry won him the skateboard.

“You won me a skateboard,” Louis tells him. “While I was being a dick. You, like, you knew we’d make up in the end?”

Harry looks alarmed at that. “Did you not? What did you think would happen? It wasn’t, like, an _actual_ fight. Was it? I was over it by the time I woke up from a nap. I was just waiting; I wanted you to be the one who apologized first.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeats. “I really am.”

“I know. You were forgiven, like, three days ago.”

“You… you won me a skateboard,” Louis points out again. And if there’s any time to kiss someone for the first time, it’s after they win you a skateboard and you make up from a not-real fight.

Louis surges forward, trapping the new board between them as he grabs Harry’s face.

“Wait!” Harry bellows, taking a quick step back, leaving Louis’ lips puckering at air. “I don’t want to break him.”

Louis watches, both touched and irritated, as Harry carefully sets the board to the side.

“Okay, you can kiss me now,” Harry says once he’s stood straight up.

Louis’ nerves kick up as he reaches for Harry’s face again, slower and more gently than before. He steps in close, the tips of their toes knocking as they get close enough that their chests are touching. The night is dark and clear, mostly silent other than his and Harry’s heavy breathing.

Harry’s hands dip to Louis’ waist, both of his pointer fingers digging in deeper than the others. Louis smiles as he brings one hand to the nape of Harry’s neck, all urgency forgotten as he savors the Moment, their closeness, the fact that it’s finally _happening_. What Louis has dreamed about probably a million times.

“I really am sorry,” Louis says, punctuating his statement with his nails carding through Harry’s hair.

“I really forgive you,” Harry whispers, his nose nudging against Louis’. “Would it be weird of me to say I’m almost, like… nervous?”

Louis shakes his head, giggling as their noses press together in an Eskimo kiss. “Would it be weird of me to say I’m glad? Because I am too. A little.”

Louis can feel Harry exhale through his nose. “If you’re nervous, it means you really like the person, right? That’s what I’ve heard.”

“That sounds right,” Louis says, and then he leans in.

Maybe they’re both a little bit shy, with closed-lips and a quick pull away. But Louis feels that it’s right. He can see it in Harry’s eyes as they pull away, can feel it in the way he doesn’t want Harry to let go. He feels the adrenaline and tingles all the way down to his fingertips and dives back in, his mouth more confident this time, searching in the dark.

His heart soars and pounds as Harry responds, his mouth opening for him and his arms caging him in, closer, closer, closer, Harry’s back pressed to the railing of the structure.

Louis’ arms wind tight around Harry’s shoulders, their chests pressed together as Louis fights his brain’s need for air, to pull away and breathe.

Harry’s just as good as oxygen, anyway.

—

They walk back to Louis’ house, hand in hand, both with pink cheeks and sneaking glances at each other. Once they make it inside, they tiptoe past Louis’ mom’s room so she doesn’t ask any questions. Harry borrows a pair of shorts and Louis shyly looks away as he changes, his body still warm with the memory of Harry’s lips against his.

And they both silently crawl into Louis’ too-small bed, coming together in the middle like the shy, inexperienced teenagers they are.

“I’m in your bed,” Harry giggles once they’re settled, his fingers gentle on Louis’ shoulders.

“I know,” Louis whispers back.

Harry bites his lip before he leans in, his dimples deep as he looms over Louis. His eyes are overwhelmed as he glances over Louis’ face, foreheads pressed together as Harry shyly navigates himself all the way on top of Louis.

“Sorry. I’ve never—”

“I know,” Louis cuts in, his hand pressed to Harry’s pounding chest. “It’s okay. There are no rules.”

Harry takes in a shaky breath as he nods. “Yeah, I just—I want everything. I want everything with you. Maybe not tonight, but eventually. Soon, maybe.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want tonight,” Louis promises, and it feels a lot more serious than it needs to be for two teenagers only one room away from a parent.

“Okay,” Harry grins, dipping in quickly to kiss Louis. “I like that.”

It’s a slow burn, soft kisses turned longer and more heated. Louis’ fingers leave crinkles in Harry’s shirt because of how hard he’s gripping him, pulling him closer as his blood begins to boil. Harry arches his neck after a particularly biting kiss, leaving his Adam’s apple right in front of Louis’ mouth.

He latches onto the skin there, sucking without enough pressure to leave a mark. He uses his tongue as he runs his hand up Harry’s chest, brushing over a hard nipple, and then Harry presses forward with a groan.

Louis blinks his eyes open as he feels Harry’s hard length pressed against his thigh. It feels forbidden, immoral in the sweetest way. He hesitates, heart rate speeding up before he rolls them over, trapping Harry to the bed with his thighs spread, Louis between them. His ribs are constricting, cutting off Louis’ air as he stares down at Harry, at his flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“This okay?” he asks as Harry’s ankles lock behind his back.

Harry nods, his eyes trusting, his arms coming up to trap Louis against him.

It’s new, thrilling and pleasurable as Louis closes his eyes and allows himself to feel. To feel the way Harry’s body writhes below him, to feel the way Louis’ movements become Harry’s, to feel how good it can be, even through four layers of clothes.

“Oh God,” Harry moans as he ruts up against him.

And Louis can feel it building, the way that Harry’s body rubs against him becoming too much by the second. It forces weak, breathy half-moans to escape his lips in the dark room, not at all like the sounds he’s seen in porn. His sounds are choked off and soft, just a tiny whisper between him and Harry. They’re not big or showy, even when he feels his toes curl and his fingers dig deep into Harry’s curls. He comes with a sudden, violent inhale, Harry following only moments later, their gasping breaths like secrets held between them.

Louis can’t let go of Harry after, too overwhelmed. He nuzzles his cheekbone into Harry’s jaw as they come down together.

Louis has felt a lot of good things in his life: joy, happiness, euphoria, and thrill. Exhilaration, bliss, ecstasy, and pleasure. But Louis feels high with this new feeling—the feeling of being more than just enough for someone after trying so hard for years to be someone he’s not—someone cooler, someone straighter, someone smarter. Harry makes his heart feel full and his nerves tingle with something beyond pleasure and exhilaration. It’s a mix of safety and comfort, of belonging and devastating heat and harmony. When he’s with Harry, he feels a lot like he’s closer to the finishing line than the starting gun.

But beyond that, he feels exhausted. Exhausted from an emotional week, exhausted from make-up sex ( _maybe?_ He’s not sure it counts) and exhausted from how much he feels for the beautiful boy beneath him.

Louis falls asleep with his cheek to Harry’s chest, too exhausted and content to change out of his sticky shorts.

In the morning, they wake up before the rest of Louis’ family and creep down the stairs. Louis doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand the whole time, except when he hands him the broken remains of Rhonda. It feels fitting. He wants Harry to know how much he means to him, how much he meant to him even before. He hopes Harry will take the time to read the bottom part, Harry’s special words he neglected to scribble out during their fight, too attached, knowing deep down that what they had was worth more than one pointless argument.

And from the singular tear-smile emoji Louis receives later, he thinks Harry gets it.

—

Loitering is frowned upon, but it’s not like Louis wasn’t a student at this school only three months ago. Even though he’s now a Real Adult at the local community college with a reputable part-time job at Baskin Robins (a definite step above the DQ,) he’s not about to let his boyfriend walk home alone on the first day back.

And even though he’s graduated from Rhonda to an improved skateboard to a shitty Ford Fiesta (on the days he’ll have to drive his sisters to school before his 9 AM), Louis is still on his skateboard.

Class lets out at exactly 3 and Louis watches from a distance as Harry hurries towards him. The freshmen surrounding him all look entirely too small, staring up at Harry with wide eyes like he’s a Scary Senior or something. It makes Louis laugh.

Once Harry’s by his side, Louis holds his hand out, putting on a brave face.

“You gonna let me come home with you?” he asks. He bites his lip once Harry grabs his hand, both of their eyes shifting to take in the people surrounding them.

Holding hands in public isn’t exactly _new_ anymore, but it’s still different when it’s around old teachers and classmates. Especially on the first day.

“You can always come home with me,” Harry giggles. He keeps his hold tight and begins to pull Louis across the sidewalk.

“I’m always down for that,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, and then sends a death-glare to a big football player who’s staring at them unkindly.

Louis can feel that Harry is trying to calm him by the way his fingers tighten against Louis’.

“Mush! Mush!” Louis yells, making a pretend whip movement with his other hand, trying to get them away as soon as possible. Harry cracks a smile and his shoulders loosen, so Louis thinks he probably successfully distracted him. They make it past the football team, past Louis’ old English teacher who sends them a nod and smile, and past the hipsters who don’t even give them a second glance.

And then they’re back on their path, the place they first remade their acquaintance.

Harry is still pulling him along, so Louis squeezes his hand. “This is where we first became friends. Do you remember?”

“Yeah. You flipped me off and karma immediately got you. Your face was so red. I swear—”

“Woah! Okay, that’s enough,” Louis cuts in. “It’s hot. I wanna get home. Hurry up. Mush! Mush!”

Harry stops short. Louis keeps rolling for a moment, before Harry’s stationary hand makes him fall back into him. Harry catches him around the waist, but pulls away once Louis regains his balance.

“Who’s your Balto now?” Harry yells over his shoulder as he runs away.

Louis regains his footing and chases after him, giggling as he closes in on him.

**Author's Note:**

> Louis graduates high school at 17, whatever, it's chill, so did I!! Creative license!!
> 
> As a halfway media professional I understand that the competition between a skateboard shop and 7/11 is very unlikely because they have very different brand goals and it seems more beneficial to one side in the way I wrote this, but it's fine. Creative license!!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com)


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